


Sailing By

by krikkiter68



Category: Black Books, The Thick Of It
Genre: Crack, Erotic Literature, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Please drink responsibly, Poor Working Relationships, Sexual References, Strong Alcoholic Beverages, Swearing, Threats of Violence, the Shipping Forecast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-19 23:43:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krikkiter68/pseuds/krikkiter68
Summary: Follow up to The Little Book of Comments.  In times of great stress, the Shipping Forecast is an oasis of calm.  They're all going to need it.





	1. Chapter 1

Golden, all golden; the late summer light filtering through the trees as Bernard placed a long hand to his unkempt brows, shielding his eyes and trying to see the band in the distance. Stumbling a little across the lush meadow grass, a little tipsy on the old strawberry wine, he giggled and stooped to kiss his own, his only Alice, his Summer Girl. He stroked her perfumed hair as the strains of ‘Astral Weeks’ started circling through the soft summer air. He reached down with the other and clasped one of Jason’s slim yet muscular thighs. Jason, his hair an amber fleece backlit by the sun, smiled and pulled Bernard closer for a kiss. Bernard laughed, disbelieving and ecstatic as the two of them took hold of him and pulled him down to the grass, his black T-shirt saucily riding up to reveal his milky abdomen…

And then the air cooled, and a cloud seemed to cover the sun, and the blissful music was obscured by Scottish shouting. Opening his eyes, he found himself slumped forward at his desk in his bookshop, the tip of his cigarette singeing the wood. He gazed up blearily into the face of a scowling Malcolm Tucker.

“Good afternoon,” Malcolm said.

“Oh,” Bernard said flatly. “You again. What do you want?”

Malcolm nodded towards the central shelf. Jamie, fully engaged in a decidedly one-sided argument, had backed Ollie against it and was yelling furiously up into the younger man’s face, like a particularly irate Irvine Welsh character. Glenn was hovering wretchedly and looking as if he’d rather be just about anywhere else.

“Just do as ye’re told, ya fucking streak of Poxbridge piss…”

“Ye got any erotic literature or poetry? I need it fer that tosser over there,” Malcolm said, pointing at Ollie. Bernard frowned.

“Bit young for that sort of thing, isn’t he? You’re his Da, yeah?” Bernard said. “’An’ that other young scamp’s the much older brother makin’ his way in the world? An’ he,” Bernard said, pointing at Glenn, “he’s just got to be their Granddad.”

Glenn shot Bernard an accusatory glare.

“I’m nae his father,” Malcolm growled. “I’d fuckin’ disown him if I was.”

“…put ya in a sack, take ya down tae the Thames and fuckin’ drown ye…”

“Well thank God you’re not. It’d be a very weird request otherwise,” Bernard said. He took hold of his opened bottle of red wine and took a long swig from it. “Ahhh, that’s better. I’ve gotta stay here an’ man the desk." He bent down and picked up his loudhailer from the floor.

“Manny!” he shrieked into it. “Manny, Manny, Manny! We’ve got customers!”

There was a pause, as Jamie momentarily stopped screaming and they all turned to stare at him. Bernard snorted in disbelief.

“I can’t believe it. He’s disobeyed me! After all I’ve done for him! Colleagues – what a bunch of insubordinate bastards!”

“Fuckin’ tell me about it,” Malcolm muttered.

“Oh God, I suppose I’d better do it, then,” Bernard said, standing up with a lot of apparent effort.

“Look, it’s fuckin’ simple, OK? We just need tae get somethin’ that’s gonna make her flinty Tory hole wet enough fer ye tae stick it up her – "

“Yeah, yeah, but, Jamie, I don’t like her – "

“Not askin’ ye tae like her! It’s warm and wet, how bad can it fuckin’ be?” Jamie snarled, pushing Ollie against the bookcase.

“Delightfully put, as ever. Oh, hello,” Ollie said, addressing Bernard. “Oliver Reeder. Junior Adviser to DoSAC. You know, the government department.”

Bernard smirked. And then, for the first time in six months, he laughed.

“Really?!” he crowed. “You don’t look old enough, sonny!” he said, bending forward and wheezing.

“Well done!” Ollie mouthed at Bernard. Jamie pushed him against the bookcase again.

“Glenn Cullen. Senior Adviser to DoSAC,” Glenn said, approaching and extending a hand.

“That’s more like it,” Bernard said, “you certainly do.”

 

Meanwhile, in the dark and abandoned depths of Goliath Books, something ominous and very angry was stirring.


	2. Chapter 2

The doorbell clanged loudly as Fran entered the shop, carrying an enormous checked bag with her. Panting slightly, she placed it on one of the less-sticky areas on the floor. Bernard took a deep swig of red wine straight from the bottle he kept on the desk, and wandered over to her.

“Planning on moving in, are you?” he asked. Fran ran a hand over her face and groaned.

“I just need to get away for a bit. The bloody landlord’s moved the wall again. I think he’s creating more rooms next door, because there’s no space either side of my bed now. Plus, I’ve got to prepare a presentation for the company on Monday. Something to do with what they represent. I mean, how should I know? I’ve no idea what they actually do!”

“Yeah. I can tell you’re overwrought. Have some,” Bernard said, handing the bottle to her. She wiped the end on her sleeve and gratefully took a gulp. “Thanks. That’s better” she said, glancing around. “Hmm, you’ve got customers. Oh, it’s them again,” she said, nodding towards them. Jamie paused in his ferocious argument with Malcolm and flashed her a toothy grin. She giggled. Bernard snorted.

“Yeah. They’re looking for dirty books, apparently, for Frodo over there,” Bernard said, pointing at Ollie. “He’s a government advisor. Christ help us all.”

“Aww. He’s cute,” Fran said. Bernard raised his eyebrows.

“Didn’t know you were on the market for a toyboy, Fran.”

Fran smirked.

“Jealousy will get you nowhere, Bernard. Help me with my stuff, would you?”

Bernard drew out a sleeping bag and pillow out of the bag, then laid it on the sofa. Fran reached in and drew out a bottle of Life Cry. Then another. Then another. Then another…

"God’s sake, Fran, is that wise?” Bernard said.

“Just a nightcap, Bernard,” Fran said, the floor around her full of bottles. “Oh, can I borrow the radio tonight, too? Howell Granger’s reading the Shipping Forecast again tonight…” she said, her voice turning breathy.

“Don’t know what you see in him, myself.”

“It’s the voice, Bernard. That…voice…”

“Yeah, whatever, OK. Manny’s got one. I’ll go and get it from his room,” Bernard said.

“Thanks, Bernard. You’re a real friend.”

“Well, what about this one?” Glenn said. He coughed, and handed Ollie a small, dusty volume. Ollie flicked through it, his face flushing.

“Uh, it’s not bad, I guess. Though, the size of the guy’s…Jesus Christ. Is he describing a man or a horse, here? Or, an actual centaur? Here,” Ollie said, pointing at the page. Glenn read it, his brow furrowing, then cleared his throat.

“Not sure that’s actually possible, you know. I’d put my back out, if I tried that,” he said.

“Yeah. You probably would, Glenn.”

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t asking for your opinion, Ollie!” Glenn snapped.

“Yeah? What is it, Terri?” Malcolm barked into his Blackberry. “We’re conducting actual fuckin’ government business, here. Nah, the story about the expenses scandal will have tae wait...”

Jamie yanked Malcolm’s Blackberry out of his hand. Malcolm glared at him.

“It’s yer fuckin’ job, Terri!” he screamed. “Write a fuckin’ press release!”

The door clanged, and a terrified Manny rushed in, slammed the door and leaned heavily against it.

“Barricade the entrances!” he whimpered. “We’re under attack!”

Fran frowned.

“Manny, what’s the matter?”

"Can’t you read?!” Bernard shouted, emerging from the curtain with Manny’s radio in one hand and pointing to the sign with the other. “It says, no mobiles!”

Manny pointed wordlessly to the window. Evan, head bandaged, an expression of seething, vengeful anger on his face, stood outside, wielding an axe and a pair of hair clippers.


	3. Chapter 3

All heads swivelled round to the window, to where Manny’s pastel-shirted nemesis was visibly pulsating in the weak winter sunshine. They watched as he raised his axe above his head, the whirring of hair clippers faintly audible, and then – 

An obnoxiously loud rendition of ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’ blared into the dusty silence. Bernard whirled around, furiously.

“What did I say?” he barked. “What did I LITERALLY JUST SAY?!”

He snatched the errant phone from Ollie’s grasp and hurled it into the air. Then Glenn’s, and finally, to a flurry of swearing and shoving, from Malcolm’s and Jamie’s. There was an uncomfortable silence, as the two Scots stared murderously at Bernard. Bernard, three sheets to the wind, barely registered the fact.

“Oh Bernard,” Fran murmured, “was that really necessary?”

“Rules!” Bernard shouted. “Without them we descend into chaos! And anarchy! Manny! Get me some wine!”

“Oh God…” Glenn whimpered, pointing at the window. Evan, axe raised, was charging straight towards them.

“Get down!” Manny shouted.

He dived under a nearby table, nearly knocking Ollie flying in the process, and hit a switch. An impressive set of steel blinds rolled down over the windows, and all of them jumped as they heard the axe crashing against the metal. A second later, they were all standing in complete darkness.

“Manny!” said Fran. “I’m impressed. When did those get installed?”

“There was this man,” Manny said awkwardly. “He was selling security blinds door-to-door. He was very persuasive…”

“Manny,” Bernard said. “Once the current crisis has passed, we’re gonna have to have a little talk about your future here.”

“Don’t ye fuckin’ even think of sackin’ him,” Jamie snarled, pacing towards the vicinity of Bernard’s voice. “Without his help – ah, fuckin’ books!” he added, as he tripped on a stray pile of the complete works of Dickens, “we’d all be fuckin’ deed!”

“Fuck me,” Malcolm intoned, “can’t even fuckin’ phone Terri. Never thought I’d be glad tae hear her fuckin’ voice, but she’d know what tae do. Thanks fer nothin’, fuckwit,” he growled, addressing Bernard, who pointedly ignored him.

“Candles,” Fran said, suddenly.

“Aye, love?” Jamie said, bemused.

“We’ll find some candles. And blankets. We’ve got plenty of booze. It’ll be just like a party.”

“Fran,” said Bernard, “are you by any chance suggesting that extreme drunkenness is the answer, here?”

“Well...yes.”

“Then it’s a great plan. Count me in.”

A couple of hours later, Glenn and Ollie were hunched over another small volume, straining to read via candlelight. Ollie raked a long hand through his curls and sighed.

“It’s not badly written, I suppose. It’s fucking angsty, though. And she doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. That’s not sexy.”

He read another passage, and raised his eyebrows.

“Mmm, I’ve got a collar like that. Three straps. It’s really quite comfortable.”

Glenn recoiled.

“That’s too much information, Ollie!”

“No, really, it is. It’s got a leash attachment…” Ollie said, looking quite wistful.

“You do realise, don’t you, Ollie, that the mental image of you being treated as a human pet will haunt me for the rest of my days?”

“Not for much longer, then.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Glenn snapped. He turned and gazed at the bottle next to them, then picked it up and peered at it.

“What’s this? Life Cry?”

“Yeah. It’s very strong vodka, or gin, or possibly both.”

Glenn unscrewed the bottle and took a swig, his face screwing up with distaste.

“Christ, that’s bloody awful. You try it.”

“Thanks,” Ollie said, taking the bottle from Glenn’s hand. Glenn watched him swigging from the bottle.

“Actually…” he started.

“…yeah?” Ollie said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and coughing.

“…I’ll think I’ve have some more.”


End file.
